


darling i know it's getting late (so what do you say we leave this place?)

by reishomi



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: M/M, Mention of Kageyama - Freeform, kindaichi has panic attacks, kindaichi's guilt, kunimi is kindaichi's childhood best friend angel duh, tHIS SHIP NEEDS MORE LOVE BRO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reishomi/pseuds/reishomi
Summary: walk me home in the dead of nighti can't be alone with all that's on my mindjust say you'll stay with me tonight__________Forgiveness, especially to forgive yourself, is far too hard to do alone.
Relationships: Kindaichi Yuutarou & Kunimi Akira, Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	darling i know it's getting late (so what do you say we leave this place?)

**Author's Note:**

> AHJDFDHHDJ HEYYYYYY this is the first haikyuu and ao3 fic ive posted and the first one ive finished this week ;-; i still have like 8 drafts bruh- anyways kindaichi deserves love because KuniKin's moment at the end of the s4 training camp rlly got me feeling things ok that's it pls leave comments + kudos; suggestions and criticisms r welcome!!
> 
> -ren <3

Guilt. Guilt was a horrible feeling, a feeling Kindaichi knew all too well. It twisted inside him, tightening against his heart, intertwining between his ribs; slowly, carefully, it tortured him with each crack as time wore on.

It haunts him, far worse than any nightmare or paranormal- it’s always there. Something he can never get rid off because the harder he tries the tighter it gets and the more difficult it is to breathe. And Kindaichi Yuutarou could be lost in his head, eyes fixated on some minuscule tree leaf outside his classroom windows, when that voice slithers into the crevices of his bones, taunting-

_“We’re not gonna follow you anymore.”_

_“What a tyrannical king.”_

_“We were never friends.”_

_Stop it, please,_ he pleads, desperate for release, tears teasing the corners of his eyes, breathing becoming more and more ragged. Cries, screams, anything to let it out, release the anguish that is slowly eating him up from the inside. Still, he suffers silently in the quiet of his classroom, unaware of the worried gaze someone shoots him through lidded eyes from one seat back and one more to the left. But he doesn’t feel it, because all he feels is this dreaded loneliness, this horrible isolation of self-hatred that he can never seem to swallow down.

Nothing can stop it. He doesn’t know how, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know anything.

No one teaches you what to do when someone good hurts you, and you know you hurt them too.

________

And in comes Kunimi Akira, his best friend, someone who’s stood by his side since he was eleven years old, small, bright, and naive. When the light shone a little brighter, and the air felt a little lighter- when he thought everything was good. That’s when he met Akira.

There are several ways to interpret the characters of Akira’s name, Kindaichi muses one day, sitting alone in the silence of their sixth grade self-study period, accompanied by the sound of scratching pencils and papers flipping. It was comforting, this kind of silence- so was the view of his best and only friend in front of him, shoulders hunched inward as he slouched over his desk, napping lazily in the afternoon sun that poured softly through the windows. 

_Akira. Akira. Akira. Akira._ He rolls it over on his tongue, feeling the syllables wedge into his teeth, marveling in the way it rolls off so easily. _Akira. Akira. Akira. Akira._ The characters are so similar but so different. That’s what it feels like to know Akira- someone who was a walking oxymoron.

He thinks about how silent Akira is, how much time he spends frolicking in the fields of his own imagination, always dozing off somewhere when possible. Always shedding his uniform off like snakeskin the minute he steps foot into his bedroom, and he’s into the bed and asleep before you can even count to three. Even when the inconvenience of being somewhere that’s not his house appears, it has no effect on him; the first time Kindaichi invited him over, he settled himself right into the warmth of his friend’s bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. Of course, Kindaichi had anticipated this, but still, the speed at which Kunimi worked to simply rest would never not be astonishing to him. 

However, Akira is still Akira, part of the top five in his year. No one disorganized would be able to earn a spot that high- and Akira was the farthest from that. On those days laced with fatigue, when practice ran hard and torturous, Akira was passed out from the minute they got home- but miraculously, he still groggily found himself rising when the clock hit 8 PM sharp, not even needing an alarm clock to confirm the time. Just enough time to finish his schoolwork, which he had already started at any time he could during school, do some extra study, eat- get ready for bed- the normal routine. Akira was scheduled, but not so much that he was discontent. Akira knew where to draw the line with overwork, and knew just the right way to fit every minuscule activity into his daily life.

Akira was extraordinary. How that boy spent so much time sleeping but was so successful, no one ever knew. But Kindaichi did. And that was enough for him. He knew Akira inside and out- how completely oppositional his friend truly was. How shy and unassuming he seemed to be, but how intelligent and leader-like he really was. Light and dark, two sides of the same coin, two characters that seem so similar- Akira was, although he hated it when Kindaichi used the word, none other than a _genius._

And Akira taught him so many lessons- things he’d never forget.

_______

He wonders sometimes, stuck in the heavy lull that we call 9 o’clock, laying in his bed, so wrapped in his thoughts he doesn’t realize he’s going down a dangerous path once again. He wonders if he was the bad influence on Akira- if he pushed him to say such snide comments about their middle school setter. Someone they even considered a friend when they would find themselves walking home from practice together. He wonders why he was so bitter, so cold, so immature.

He wants nothing more than to punch his thirteen-year-old self right now.

He’s so engulfed by the panicked thoughts that he doesn’t notice how quick and shallow his breathing has become, how much the world is spinning right now. The distraction is so thick he doesn’t notice his phone buzzing violently by his side, someone desperately calling him from somewhere far over and over again. Once again, he is swallowed, surrounded, and cannot bring himself to pull himself out.

_It’s my fault._

_I should’ve tried harder._

_I should’ve understood more._

_I should’ve helped._

_I should’ve given him a chance._

_I should’ve cared._

_I should’ve stopped._

_It’s my fault._

His room is completely dark now, and while he usually loved to watch the stars, he couldn’t find it in himself to love anything about the blackness that surrounded him and seeped into his soul. “It’s my fault,” he whispers, and the walls seem to laugh at his ridiculous statement, and he feels himself shrink into his arms even further, eyes digging into his knees as he hugged them close to his chest, sobbing painful sobs.

_It’s my fault._

_It’s my fault._

_It’s my-_

“Look at me.”

He’s so startled by the sound of his door opening, the familiar voice inches away from him that he jumps nearly two feet higher than the heavens, and is even more shocked when he feels soft but callused hands rest on his knees, immediately replacing his eyes to rest there. 

And through his bloodshot eyes, he sees Akira.

“I see you.” He whispers, soft and broken, tears clear in the way his voice cracks on ‘you.’

“I see you.” He whispers again. And again, he cracks on the word you. _You make me weak, Akira-kun._ _I see Akira. Nothing else matters._

“You see me,” Akira says, voice barely above a whisper as well, his face twisted with worry lines. “Can you tell me if you see anything else?”

“Like what?” _What does he mean?_

“Can you tell me,” Kunimi starts, swallowing a breath and stealing glances downwards, hands beginning to tremble on Kindaichi’s equally shaking knees. “Can you tell me, if you can see yourself?”

“What-”

“Can you truly see yourself? See yourself for who you are? See that- that you realizing your mistakes is already a sign of a new you already? That you worry too much about the things you cannot change?” His voice gets higher and louder, and he gets closer and closer, and at some point, their legs knock and something gives and suddenly Akira is on top of Kindaichi.

And to his great surprise, tears are falling onto his face. 

Akira is crying for him.

“Can you, Yuu?”

_It hurts. The way he said that hurts. Why does it hurt, Akira?_

“I’m not sure,” he chooses to say, gazing sideways and turning his head to the left to avoid those piercing eyes. Unfortunately, Akira is not swayed, instead choosing to bring a hand to the cheek of the boy below him, turning it softly to face him once again.

“Then I’ll tell you over and over and over again until you can finally see it. If it still haunts you when you’re 89, I’ll tell you over and over again still. I want you to see the you that I see,” he’s sobbing now, Kindaichi realizes, breathing hitching every time he tries to speak another word- and Akira’s tears feel like acid rain on his own tear-stained cheeks.

“I want,” he swallows again, “I want you to love yourself the way I do.” 

And suddenly, Kindaichi has no control over his body, because one moment he is laying on the bed and the next he is upright, with his best friend in between his arms, their legs tangled, Kindaichi’s sore arms wrapped so tightly around Kunimi that both their lungs are aching. He feels a jolt run through the smaller boy before he feels his back muscles relax under his fingers, and he feels Kunimi’s hands rest upon his shoulder blades, his bony elbows digging into Yuu’s ribs. 

He’s sobbing again. He just can’t seem to control anything today- not his body, not his heart, not his emotions or tears. His eyes travel to Akira’s back, watching the wet spots where his tears land on his shirt grow larger and larger the more tears he spills. And he feels his shoulder growing soggier, and he realizes then how lucky he is- to have someone shed tears when they see you in pain.

“One day,” he whispers into the dark, breaking the agonizing silence. “One day, I’ll forgive myself. Because- because-” his fingers scrunch around Akira’s shirt, grip and throat tightening as he says, “I want to be worth your love.”

Violent sobs come pouring out of Akira, and somewhere in the noise of tears and desperate breathing, Kindaichi hears one thing.

“You’re worth the world to me. Please- just please see that.” and at that moment, Kindaichi had never felt his best friend, so calm and collected and steady, sound so broken and scared. 

“Akira..” Before he knows it, his left hand is combing through the boy’s hair, and ever-so-gingerly he rests his hand upon the nape of his neck, and his right-hand finds its place on Kunimi’s waist, and it fits- like it was meant to be there.

Pushing them apart, Kunimi’s hands fall to the taller boy’s waist as well, and brings his eyes in an upward gaze to look at him. 

“Akira,” Kindaichi whispers, and he doesn’t know why, but he finds himself drawing closer to the lips of the boy in front of him, pink-tinted and a bit chapped. There’s something in the air, some sort of hypnotizing atmosphere, and he’s almost a 100% sure Akira feels it too (because if he doesn’t this is gonna turn really awkward really fast) because suddenly they are inching closer and closer to each other- until their lips meet.

“Akira,” he mumbles into the kiss, sloppy and wet and messy- but also so soft, so warm, so full of love. He wonders if all of his emotions are going to this kiss, if Akira can feel him say _I love you so much, I’m so lucky to have you in my life to pull me out of my darkest days, thank you Akira, Akira, Akira, Akira_ through his pecks. 

The kisses travel as he gingerly brushes his lips against Akira’s everywhere- his lips, his nose, the corners of his eyes, the apples of his cheeks, the middle of his collarbone- because he is so overflowing with the love he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So full of love are his lips as he whispers his- lover? Best friend? Angel in time of need? Still, he utters the name with the utmost adoration, pure admiration, care, and enchantment clear in his whispers. 

And Akira whispers back. “Yuu,” he whispers back. And that little whisper, the way that Akira says his name lights a hundred thousand fireworks in the darkest nights of his body.

Later, when they wake up from this drunken stupor of hurt and guilt and redemption, they’ll blush like cherries, stutter their way through _i love you’s_ and _go out with me’s,_ but for now- 

For now there is Yuutarou, a survivor of the darkest corners of his own mind, and there is Akira, the boy he loves, slowly pulling him out of this hole he dug himself into, the one who has never let go since they met behind the gym the summer before their fifth grade. 

No guilt, no pain, no hurt and no panic attacks no longer- just Akira. 

“Akira.” as he kisses the spot between his eyebrows.

“Yuu.”

“Akira.” as he kisses his jawline.

“Yuu.”

“Akira.” as he kisses his earlobe.

“Yuu.” he giggles this time.

“Akira.” as he places his lips on the other’s once again.

And he smiles, wide and toothy, from ear to ear. “Thank you, Akira,” he whispers through his grin, his breath hot against Akira’s lips, before once again, he dives in, falling deeper, harder, farther.

_Thank you, Akira._


End file.
